Blackbirds in Forsythia
by Ms Trick
Summary: "Darla and I had a little spat. Her precious Master sent for her. You know Darla. Master's pet." A peek at what Darla was doing.


_Drusilla's gleaming smile reflected her elated mood. She smiled between the two men. Her two men.  
  
"Where's Darla? I want Darla to see William."  
  
Angelus stalked toward them.  
  
"Darla and I had a little spat. Her precious Master sent for her. You know Darla. Master's pet."  
_  
It was 1880. Angelus had convinced Darla to trade the Master's companionship for his one hundred and twenty years ago, but she was still heeding her sire's call and found it difficult to stay away from London. They had fled to France and Rome when the vampire-hunter Holtz became too much of a threat. But as always, they returned to London. Angelus was slightly miffed; he wanted to see the world. Darla had mollified him by presenting him the chaste Drusilla.  
  
Darla walked with fortitude and a seductive grace in a luxurious gown that appeared ridiculously out of place in the Master's underground cavern of a palace. Her vicious childe had been right about one thing: the dank underground was not her world.  
  
Darla wondered why the Master would request her. He must have known that she would return to him soon at any rate. Though one could consider her a traitor to her sire for leaving in the company of Angelus, the Master still owned a part of her through blood. She owed him much.  
  
With eyes full of embers, she strode into the large hall, where the Master lounged in his ancient throne.  
  
"You're earlier than I expected. Usually it takes a few days to convince your stallion to let you come to my side."  
  
"We argued until it reached a time when I thought he would be so much more agreeable if he was unconscious."  
  
She and Angelus had fought many times over the years of course but during this recent clash he had infuriated her as he never had. Returning to nasty habits he had picked up when human, he had struck her when she disagreed to submit regressing to the ideal 'when the woman doesn't cooperate, use force'. His lash would barely leave a bruise on her pale skin tone but that wasn't what had angered her. She was ferociously irritated that he subconsciously thought of her as another woman he could have his way with. But she wasn't. She was his sire and she had made sure he learned that. So she struck him back, leaving a satisfying bruise on his unconscious forehead, and then left to find the Master.  
  
**1997**  
  
_Giles looked around at the three anxious teenagers in his library and began to speak.  
  
"This is what we know. Some sixty years ago, a very old, very powerful vampire came to this shore, not just to feed."  
  
"He came 'cause this town's a mystical who's it," Buffy inserted.  
  
"Yes. The Spanish who first settled here called it 'Boca del Infierno'. Roughly translated, 'Hellmouth'. It's a sort of, um, portal between this reality and the next. This vampire hopes to open it."  
  
"Bring the demons back," Buffy surmised.  
  
"End of the world," Xander added.  
  
"But he blew it!" Willow interjected with an outburst and then began an aftershock stutter. "Or, I mean, there was an earthquake that swallowed half the town, and him too."_  
  
**1880**  
  
"A Hellmouth?" She asked softly from her perch on the arm of the Master's throne. "Which one?"  
  
"The strongest sensed lies across the ocean," he replied in his bat-like drawl as he absently stroked her cheek. "Although whether it is the named Boca del Infierno or the unfamiliar one in the centre of the continent, I do not know. We must travel West from the eastern shore in any case, so it is not a matter of urgency."  
  
Darla nodded distractedly.  
  
"I know you will not come with me at this time."  
  
Darla looked at him sharply.  
  
"Someday maybe," she said, her voice still hushed.  
  
Later that night, she strolled down the dark, black London streets, lost in thought. Walking up the steps leading to the Ambassador's lavish house, she recognized the scent of a new vampire.  
  
She ambled up the stairs toward the room her sharp ears had picked up movement from.  
  
William sat in the corner of the room, his eyes cold as he cradled a bruised and broken wrist. Drusilla hovered over him, cocking her head as though listening to his wounds. Angelus turned his head from his spot on the couch as the door opened.  
  
"My sweet death..." He breathed, though made no move towards her.  
  
William knew that she was a vampire, and a black-hearted one if Drusilla's babbling held true, even knowing this he thought she resembled an angel. William chuckled at his ironic, poetic thought. _Angel of death, that's what she is. _


End file.
